This Is Not an X-Men Story
by Kimi-f11
Summary: Five teenagers find themselves in the care of a mysterious benefactor. But mystery is afoot and nothing is truly as it seems at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Alternatively, a self-indulgent AU about people under a lot of stress, and the formation of the X-Men in a much more cynical world.
1. I scream, we all scream probably

No one actually knew how old Scott Summers was. It was hard to tell. This was in part because he constantly wore shades, but Bobby and the rest of the group were certain it wouldn't have mattered if Scott was rocking baby blues behind those shades (he wasn't, he had gouged his own eyes out at least four years prior to their meeting, and Bobby had it on good authority his eyes had been brown) he would probably still not seem his age. No Scott was one of those annoying people who insisted on acting like they were 130 at all times. Even now, Bobby was sure he was being watched, _judged_ even, as he kicked his feet against the rug.

"I can hear you, you know." Also, Scott was psychic, and somehow Bobby was always forgetting this.

"Telepathic," Scott corrected, like the annoying person he was.

Bobby missed the days when he had to talk before people thought he was stupid. "Is the difference that big a deal?"

" _Yes._ A psychic can be all kinds of things, clairvoyant, can see the future, talk to ghosts, brain whip people with the power of their mind- I just hear every annoying thought that goes through people's heads. Those are very different things."

"Is Jean psychic?" A genuine thought that had been plaguing Bobby since the group had skipped out of Austin two weeks ago and Jean had mysteriously convinced a truck driver to take them all the way east. Like, all the way. Right up to the beach. The man had seemed very confused.

"Probably. When she's not setting things on fire."

Bobby thought this was hysterical, and managed to guffaw to prove it. It was Hank who had taught him that word "guffaw". He said it meant "to laugh like a moron" which Bobby figured meant all his laughs qualified.

It was also Hank goddamned McCoy who was responsible for their current predicament. That is to say, their current state of being, which was disturbing in that currently no one seemed to be in danger and no lives were imminently at risk. Apparently. Hell, they even had new clothes and were staying in a fancy house that had more rooms than Bobby had realized possible.

Having traveled with Scott for almost two years now, Bobby knew that this was a sign of true peril indeed.

"One and a half years." Scott corrected. Unasked.

"Who's counting?"

Scott was. Obviously.

The door to the room the boys were waiting outside of opened, and Jean appeared in the doorway with Charles Xavier.

Jean was a very good looking girl. Like, on a scale of one to ten, she was a nine on a bad day, and Bobby had never quite gotten the story of how she wound up attached at the hip to Scott, but their relief at being reunited was punctuated by her tackling him in a bear hug, which turned into a group hug as she yanked Bobby into it.

" _Ow._ "

"You love it."

He did.

"Ahem."

They all spun. Xavier was a...weird guy. Bald, wheelchair bound, and always in a suit, he was the exact opposite of everyone they had been running from. And yet the way Scott jumped had Bobby thinking twice.

"Mr. Summers, a word."

There was a moment of tense silence where Scott, Jean, and Bobby exchanged looks. Bobby had gotten better at this particular thing. It was hard because Scott couldn't see, so it was less a look, more a general aura that got traded between the three of them. As per usual, Scott's said "go I'll be fine I'm a badass" and Jean's said "you're not that cool you drool in your sleep". Bobby liked to think he was successfully conveying "I'm getting concerned for your wellbeing because you've been freaking out all day in this mansion and I'd love to know why mansions freak you out."

Neither answered Bobby's question.

"Go check on Warren," Scott said.

With that Scott and Xavier disappeared into the man's study. Bobby realized with a start this was the first time in two years he and Scott had been apart, like, doing other things. Given the size of the mansion, it would probably be the furthest apart physically they'd been too, once he got to Warren's room. Suddenly he thought he understood Scott's uneasiness, and he longed to open that door and hear whatever it was Xavier thought he couldn't share with the rest of them. People were always leaving Bobby out.

If Jean was psychic she said nothing, just put a hand to Bobby's back and led him down the hall, away from whatever Scott was talking about with their new rich friend.

* * *

[It was raining out and Warren wasn't breathing Jesus Christ Warren was-

"Bobby, hold here, we might stop the bleeding."

"I...I…"

" _Bobby"_

Bobby couldn't understand how Scott could see this much red and not be scared. Of course, maybe it was that he _couldn't_ really see it, couldn't see how pale Warren was and dear god don't die whatever you do we're not ready for that ye-

"Bobby, I need you to stop thinking. We need to stay calm."

"Scott he's going to need medical attention." That was Jean, and Bobby was relieved in a way to see she looked as scared as he felt.

And there they were, knelt over Warren in the middle of a road in the middle of nowhere. Like he was some kind of roadkill. With the way his feathered wings, once the most beautiful thing Bobby had ever seen, lay mangled and red and black on the road, he really could have been a dead animal.

No not dead.

But not breathing.

Headlights were approaching.

Bobby looked up. He didn't recognize the figures getting out of the car at first. It took the calm cadence of Hank's voice pushing through the rain for his brain to jolt to awareness. And by then people were pushing him back, and Warren was being moved off that godawful road.]

* * *

Warren looked much better in a mansion, Bobby decided. Not that he didn't always look good. No offense to Jean, but Warren was an eleven when he wasn't trying. All long angelic blonde hair down past his shoulders, and blue eyes and a smile for everyone. The wings helped the whole angel thing too.

Surrounded by white sheets and expensive furniture, wings wrapped so no one had to see the damage, he looked almost normal.

"Hey there Big Bird." Bobby waved from the door. Close as they all were, there seemed an insurmountable gap between what Bobby was (dumb, useless, plain, alive) and what Warren was (perfect, somewhat less near death).

Warren just smiled at him, and it's brightness made Bobby move into the room in spite of himself. Jean was on his heels and they sat on either side of Warren's bed, just being there. Warren tried to sit up.

"Oh no you don't." Bobby put a hand to his chest, careful to mind the bandages and tubes. "Just relax man, I almost lost you once. I will literally chain you to this bed if you think of moving."

"Figuratively." Hank made his presence known from a chair in the corner. "Figuratively chain him to the bed."

Warren seemed panicked for a moment. Wide blue eyes looked between Bobby, Jean and Hank like he thought they'd seriously be holding grudges at a time like this. To put his mind at ease Bobby twisted around so Hank could see his face. "No. I mean what I said. I'll find chains, and Scott will help me, if he so much as thinks of moving."

Hank smiled slowly from over the top of his book. Warren relaxed back into the bed.

Sometimes Bobby wondered what Warren sounded like, if he ever had a voice or if he was born without one. He bet the guy would have had Disney level singing skills. He and Scott would have started a band and Bobby would have never met them.

Quietly, in the darkest corners of his heart where not even Scott's telepathy could reach, Bobby was grateful. Grateful Scott gouged out his own eyes in fear he might hurt someone. Grateful Warren, if he really was an angel, fell and lost his voice. That Jean left behind her comfortable life for one of pain and unhappy endings. And grateful Hank was so terrifying to his peers that the only way he could pursue his academic interests was to run away. He was grateful for all their pain and more because without it, Bobby was certain, he'd have been left behind.


	2. Where there's Jean theres fire

[Jean stretched out on her blue comforter. Her bedroom was the smallest in the house, painted in seafoam green, with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. She liked to watch them on nights like tonight. Normal nights.

Klunk.

She glanced towards her window in time to see another rock hit the glass. She frowned, and sat up, working it open with some effort. A slim, dark figure was in her yard.

"Scott?"

"Oh good. You're awake. I was worried I would break something I...well."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I need you to come downstairs."

"Why?"

Silence. "Please. Jean. Come downstairs.]

* * *

The first time Jean saw Scott without his eyes sometimes flashed before her eyelids unbidden. She wasn't sure why. It wasn't pity. Scott was a very difficult person to pity, and Jean wasn't the pitying type. It was something though. Sunken eyelids and scarred sockets, and yet Jean wasn't squeamish. Now that they had some money and means she wondered if he would be able to get glass eyes. She wasn't sure how she felt about that either.

Most of all, she wasn't sure what to make of their new predicament.

After Hank had picked them up back in Maine, it seemed no one wanted to talk about what was going on between them. Hank had driven them from the border of Main to New York in almost complete silence, and with everything that happened to Warren…

Jean understood maybe now wasn't a good time. But there was never a good time, so as soon as Bobby was done cooing over Warren and his admittedly good progress, she gave a curt not to Hank in the corner and left the room. She felt bad for excluding Warren sometimes, but Warren was simultaneously the least and the best of them. Whenever problems arose, Warren was the last person to instigate and the first to try and mend bridges. She just needed Hank and Bobby now.

Hank was quick to follow her out into the hall, and Bobby lingered, but knew better than to keep her waiting too long.

The hallway was wood paneled, with a thin, ornate rug running down its center and portraits everywhere. It was the nicest place Jean had been in quite some time.

"What are you doing?" Bobby asked, "We don't need to do this now."

"We do need to do this now, we needed to do it weeks ago but we didn't and Warren suffered for it." She lowered her voice. "We cannot go through this again."

Bobby glanced back into the room, and Jean had no doubt Warren could hear them. She hoped he understood.

"Agreed." Bobby relented, and Jean smiled a weakly. Bobby had grown more than anyone these last weeks. She wished he could go back to how he used to be.

Both turned to Hank expectantly. The misshapen boy shuffled awkwardly. Hank was large, abnormally so, with disproportionate limbs and a lopsided smile. In her crueler moments Jean thought he looked like a hairless gorilla.

Hank screwed his face up under his gold rimmed bifocals, book clutched under his arm tightly. "I hate this."

"What?" Jean asked.

"This ." He spat. "The accusing! You do this Jean. You say, 'let's talk about it' but you mean 'let me put you on trial'. So tell me Jean, what do I stand accused of today? Looking out for my own well being? Coming to your rescue when you were too proud to ask for help?"

Face screwed up in a sneer, Hank had never looked more ugly.

"I do not -"

"You do!"

Both whipped around in surprise, and Bobby faltered, stepping back so he almost knocked a painting off the wall.

"I mean I...the best I...you…" he looked like he might not finish.

Jean sighed. "Say what you're thinking Bobby. You won't be able to hide it forever."

Bobby shrunk back, and slid down to the floor so he could cradle his own head. "I just. I keep replaying that moment over and over again in my head and...the way I see it we all did everything wrong. Like everything." he laughed bitterly. "Maybe we're cursed? I dunno. I keep thinking if you hadn't run your mouth off at Hank, if I had been more convincing, if Scott had been there, none of this would have happened."

Jean ran a hand through her hair and looked at Hank. "I am sorry, by the way. For what I said."

It was Hank's turn to muster a weak smile. "Even the filthy ape bit?"

Jean grinned. "Especially that. You're the handsomest and cleanliest ape I know."

Hank really smiled at that. Jean felt the tension that had grown between them since Maine begin to dissipate.

"And I want you to know. I understand why you left. It's hard being with us, and you're smart, you deserve to go to school. To Harvard or Yale or something and we are holding you back. I just didn't want you to leave us behind."

Hank's grip on his book softened and he moved to hug Jean.

"I wouldn't leave you all for the world."

Jean decided to bite the comment welling up in her throat at that, but she got the overwhelming sense suddenly that they had all felt it anyways.

Whatever Hank said, whatever promise he made, he had left them. And that wouldn't change.

* * *

Warren made good progress under the watchful eyes of a woman named Moira MacTaggert. She had a slight Scottish lilt and a habit of clucking disapprovingly at Bobby's antics. In fact, she seemed to have taken quite a liking to Bobby, and Jean watched them fall into an easy pattern of almost maternal back and forth from time to time.

With everyone else MacTaggert was stern, compassionate, and distant.

Sometimes Jean would watch her disappear in Xavier's study to discuss Warren's status and feel like she was missing something important.

"Speaking of our mysterious host-"

"No one was speaking Scott."

"Tch. Whatever."

Scott was grinning from where he was stretched out in the sunlight on the grass of the manor's front lawn. They were watching (listening) over Warren as Bobby encourage him to run amok in the beautiful gardens. Hank kept a dutiful eye on their chaos, and on another day Jean would have been right there with Bobby, egging Warren on. As it was, Bobby had dragged the barely recovered Warren into a fountain and was delighting in bird jokes.

Just as Scott predicted, Xavier, tailed by MacTaggert, came over the hill. Bobby and Warren paused to watch their approach.

Once closer, Xavier called out. "I'd request that we all go inside for a moment, not to ruin the fun. I simply have some things to discuss with you all and Dr. MacTaggert."

"And what if we just stay here?"

Scott hadn't sat up, he wasn't even bothering to face Xavier. Inside Jean smiled, outside she betrayed nothing.

"You may do as you wish Mr. Summers. I am simply making a request. I think it would be of interest to you all to hear what Mrs. MacTaggert has to say." Xavier kept his voice bizarrely cheerful, but Jean felt goosebumps anyways. Something powerful emanated from this man and Jean did not like the way he pretended otherwise. He could have just ordered them and she would have been happier. She hated the falsehood of these requests.

The rest of them waited on Scott to make the first move. Even Jean found herself turning to him. Scott took as long as possible to stand up.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Jean turned over what Moira MacTaggert had said as she lay awake, staring at her ceiling. Sleep would not come, and eventually she found the white ceiling of her temporary room the most unbearable thing to look at in the world.

Mutant . She turned the word over in her head as she slipped down the hallways of the manor, silent feathery soft in bare feet and borrowed pajamas. Not quite human .

Jean had been accused of and called many things in her life. But never had she been so fearful of the implications.

It was cold outside. Brisk early spring air left frost on the grass. Jean didn't want to turn back and get a coat so she let herself feel cold.

Moira wanted them to stay in the manor so she could study them.

For medical reasons.

For their own safety.

She had never wanted to run so fast in her life. First would be tests she was sure, but then there would be more. More tests, more constraints. Who was to draw the line? What was to stop them from doing what had been done to Scott before they found each other?

When Xavier had taken her into the study days prior, he had sat Jean down and simply asked her questions.

How old was she? (No comment.)

Did she have parents? (No, she was the result of spontaneous generation.)

Why were they running? (...)

Was there anyone he should contact? (No.)

Did she need anything? (Orange juice, please.)

Did she know she was psychic? (I don't want to talk anymore.)

Psychic was a strong word for what Jean was. But it was true sometimes when she stood next to the others she knew what they would say before they said it. But they were all so close it seemed excusable. And then there was the truck driver. All she had to do was bat her eyes at him, and he drove them to the coast, no questions asked.

But that was new. The Jean she was comfortable with, the one she'd known all her life, was the one who could set fires with her brain and move vases across tables from two rooms over. She preferred that Jean.

That Jean spread her hands palm up and clasped like a bowl before her on the grass of the manor lawn and watched as the world bent to her will. The dew on the grass leapt up to dance around her fingertips. She stayed there till morning.

* * *

[News article: Dated 4 years ago

Headline: Family Dies in House Fire

On April 12th just two nights ago the Grey family house caught fire with the family still inside...]


	3. Xavier's little monster

Hank was happier than he had ever been before. Professor Xavier had a massive library, and a massive lab, and while tutoring would have been nice, Hank was content to busy himself with creative self instruction. At the moment he was exploring the guts of the jet Xavier had previously tried not to mention to Bobby.

"This is so badass."

It had not worked.

"Please, for all our sakes, touch nothing."

Bobby raised his hands from the controls of the jet and looked for all the world like he hadn't been thinking of such a thing. Hank smirked and went back to fiddling with the equipment. He had read through the closest thing to a manual he could find yesterday (an old blueprint) and wanted to test out his memory.

"Think you could fly this thing?" Bobby asked.

"Of course. Shouldn't be too difficult." Hank's audacity was rewarded with a face splitting grin. In truth he'd never even gotten his driver's license, but Bobby, for all he seemed quieter these days, was still naive enough to mistake Hank's intelligence for experience and trustworthiness. Hank hoped to take advantage of that for as long as possible. He had missed having someone to show off too.

"This here should measure altitude, this should be a cloaking device-"

"Like the Romulans?"

Hank stared blankly. Sometimes Hank thought Bobby really wasn't speaking English.

"Nevermind. What's that?"

And so Hank got to spend the afternoon explaining to an eager Bobby the intricacies of flying a jet. And if sometimes he made things up, well...Bobby would probably never need to fly the plane.

* * *

[Hank had known when they let that man go back in Austin that it would come back to bite them in the ass. He just hadn't realized how hard.

Warren was the only one with him when it happened. Normally the group didn't split up. Scott especially hated it, and Hank didn't blame him. That day had been a fluke. Now, Warren and Hank were cornered. All around them it was as if time had frozen, and before them, the man, the very same man Jean had insisted they let go just weeks prior, was rolling towards them.

Warren was signing something, probably to run, but Hank kept his eyes on the man and stood his ground. He had seen where running got them.

"Mr. Hank McCoy," the man said, "My name is Charles Xavier and I believe I might be able to help you."

One of the first things Scott had told him in not so kind words was that no one helped people like them without wanting something in return.

"I am looking to open a school for such talented individuals as yourselves down in New York. I believe you and your friends could have quite the home there."

"School?"

"Yes. You'll find me an adequate teacher I would hope. I have a degree from Harvard, and PhDs in Genetics, Biophysics, Psychology, and Anthropology. And also-" he raised his hand in the air, and the world spun back into life, people moving like they hadn't been frozen in time seconds before, "I believe you'll find I quite understand your predicament, and the precautions people like us are forced to take if we wish to remain out of the eyes of the public."

"What are you?"

"Simply someone who wishes to help. If you are willing, I offer you a permanent home."

Warren was tugging insistently on Hank's sleeve now, and Hank turned to calm him down. When he looked back, the man was gone, but a voice echoed in Hank's head.

Should you need to contact me, I am merely a thought away. Also, you may find me in New York.]

* * *

The talk with Scott, was, perhaps, inevitable, though Hank had hoped that perhaps Jean might've smoothed things over for him.

She hadn't.

After seeing Bobby away from the jet, Hank had run into Scott in the hall. All five of them had rooms on the second floor, in the same hallway. Warren's was the most frequently visited, as he was often tired and bedridden since Maine. Scott took one look at Hank and, well…

He didn't have to be a mind reader.

When they were a safe distance from the rooms, Scott leant against the wall.

"I presume Jean spoke with you?" Hank figured there was no use beating around the bush.

"Not so much."

Silence. Scott was not a talkative person, but Hank rather wished he would at least say something. He suspected the limited telepathic powers were responsible in part for his behavior, but these days Hank was wondering just how seperate their powers were from their persons. Was Scott without his powers still Scott, or were they intricately intertwined, inseparable and irreconcilable? Scott was not simply Scott with telepathy and without his eyes, but was blind telepathic Scott, and Hank was just now, here at the manor, beginning to understand that, as he tried to piece together for himself who he was.

"Would you stop that?"

Hank jumped a little.

"The...philosophizing. I mean Jesus Christ I hear you enough out loud do you have to obsess over it-Christ Hank."

"I'm sorry about Warren." Hank figured that was a better start.

Scott sneered. "Of course you are."

"Hey I'm trying here-"

"I'm not staying-"

"...What?"

Scott was pacing now, and Hank thought maybe he should stop him as there was a vase on a pedestal awfully close by that he seemed unaware of.

"I'm not going to fucking break it. Look. I can't stay here. As soon as I know Warren's ok I'm bailing out. You can do the whole school thing with Mr. Wheels if you want. I'm out."

"You can't be out. I told Jean we would stay together!"

Aaaaaand that had been a trap. He could tell because Scott stopped cold. "Then come with us."

"I can't. "

"Why the hell not?"

Hank took a deep breath. "Scott. I know your life has been difficult, believe me, mine has been no show but-But I believe that we can't keep running. It isn't a sustainable lifestyle. We cannot keep on like this. Maybe it was my fault that Warren was hurt, but maybe next time we're all together and it happens anyways. Xavier is offering us-"

"We don't even know him Hank! People don't do this! Billionaires don't just drop out of the sky and offer you everything you've ever wanted on a platter. There is a catch. And if we stay we'll have no choice but to do whatever he wants."

"Well I choose to believe in a world that isn't out to get me, Scott."

Scott seemed to regard him for a moment, then sighed, all the fight leaving him. He kicked at the floor. "Believe what you want Hank. Just, stay safe."

Scott left and Hank went to check on Bobby and Warren.

* * *

[Arriving at the manor with nothing but the clothes on his back, Hank felt more like a monster than a man. Nothing made ugly stand out like beauty.

Xavier was waiting on the doorstep. As Hank approached, he held out a hand for him to shake. "Welcome, Mr. McCoy, to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I think you'll find yourself quite at home here."]


	4. Where Angel fears to tread

Warren had spent most of his life being told he looked like an angel. Mostly by well meaning people, who would address his nearest "keeper", whether that be his mother or, as of late, Jean or Bobby. Scott was rarely addressed and in fact, one of the many reasons Warren preferred Scott's company was the guy's pure aversion to conversation. Also he was blind, so the words 'angel' or 'angelic' had never passed his lips in regard to Warren's appearance.

Warren's prevailing theory on the matter was that it was his hair. It was incredibly long, and fine, and blonde. Not exactly the kind of style that keeps people from thinking of visions of angelic beauty.

Still, he endlessly preferred Scott, who was more prone to describing Warren as an oversized ostrich, peculiar pelican, or, Warren's particular favorite, idiotic egret. Sometimes it was energetic egret, too.

Warren had asked once where Scott had acquired his vast knowledge of birds. Scott had said when he was twelve his "father" had moved them down to Florida. Warren knew little about Scott's father, except that the man was not in fact at all related to Scott and was currently dead. In Florida, Scott confessed, he had acquired through some measure of deception a book, and read it voraciously and with the reckless abandon only a child denied access to all books and television could. It had been a visual encyclopedia of the bird life of southwest Florida. Scott could even recite the copyright page by heart. Florida was also where Scott learned sign language, but Warren had not quite yet extracted that story from the reticent boy. He was grateful none the less, because without Scott, and Bobby's eager if confusing aid, Warren would have truly been the silent one.

Today the bandages were coming off. Moira had been hovering over him like a sharp shinned hawk since he arrived. Her touches were gentle, but her manner was distant despite her smiles. Warren would be glad to be rid of the bandages and her bedside manner.

"Ah, Mr. Worthington, how are you feeling?"

He signed for well, and presumed she understood because so far during his stay she had no issues with his sign language. Then again, they rarely had complicated conversation.

"Let's take a look," she said, "I'm going to take off the bandages here at the base to check how you've healed, please don't move."

People liked to explain things to Warren like he was blind. Irked, he held still as she slowly unwrapped his frail right wing.

"This looks good. You're healing nicely." She then set about applying medicines, giving him painkillers, and other routine things until his wings had been fully unwrapped.

"You won't be able to fly for quite some time, so be sure to take it easy."

She was just about finished with everything when she stopped, and turned to look at Warren very seriously.

"Warren, do you think I've done right by you?" Warren was taken aback, he began to move to answer her but she kept going, "I mean, do you trust me? Do you trust I have your best interests at heart."

Warren lowered his hands softly. He knew there was no good answer for her.

* * *

[When Warren awoke he could not speak. The masters called him Angel but he knew his name was Warren. He knew but could not remember how he knew and it was slowly driving him insane.

The drip of water on stone was also driving him insane. Many things were driving him insane if he wasn't already so.

"Angel," they called to him.

Sometimes he was visited by a woman. Of all the people here in the dark she seemed the most like him, save she was missing an eye. She liked to visit him and talk to him about things he didn't quite understand. "The surface this, the surface that."

He was rather sick of hearing about this surface.]

* * *

"You seem better."

Scott tried to be nonchalant. It wasn't working.

"He's not well enough yet for you to try anything," Bobby said. Warren smiled at him wryly, and Bobby narrowed his eyes back. Bobby was unofficially the only one allowed to speak on Warren's behalf, and only because he became put out by all the telepathy nonsense what with Scott and Jean and now Xavier. Bobby had been the first to pick up sign language after Scott and Warren so he also got a pass in some regard for being the closest to Warren.

"I wasn't going to try anything," Scott stopped eating his cereal and defensively whirled around to where Bobby was leaning against a wall.

Bobby stayed silent, and Scott frowned.

"I was _not_."

Warren didn't know what Scott was responding to, but he could guess. Bobby's inner mother hen and jokester tendencies did not mix well.

"Morning." Jean strode into the kitchen, destroying the almost inevitable psychic war between Bobby and Scott. "You look great Warren."

Warren signed his thanks and asked her her plans for the day.

"I was thinking of heading into town. Ya know, get out of here for a bit. You wanna come?"

"I'm not sure if-"

"Jean you can't-"

"I wasn't asking you two. You down Warren?"

Warren grinned and started cleaning up his dishes.

* * *

Jean stole the car, Warren was pretty sure. He couldn't find it in himself to care. His hair was whipping around his head, and Jean laughed as they zipped through the country, sights set on the nearest town. Her hair was wild and red and she looked happy as they put their arms up in the convertible.

Warren felt a sickening twist in his gut. The moment painted before him, in a stolen red sports car, tore at his mind, and for a moment he saw a flash of an older couple and a different red car, a fragment of the past stolen from him. He stopped smiling.

"You okay?" Jean shouted over the wind.

Warren fixed his face back up and nodded as he signed to her.

When in doubt, feighn content. Months at the mercy of the morlocks had taught him that.

* * *

["Pretty little thing," the woman had said. Her name, he'd learned, was Callisto. "It's a shame you can't talk. I bet you'd have a lovely voice."

She grabbed him by the chin and stared into his eyes, intent on finding out the depths of them. She made a disgruntled sound, and tossed him aside.

"It's for the best. Take it from me, kid, image isn't everything. They wouldn't have cared what you had to say. If you could talk. It's best you stay as you are. A pretty face."]


	5. Blind man and the elephant in the room

10 Years Later

* * *

Logan was loathe to admit it, but the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters was the nicest set up he'd managed to snag himself in a while. The place was clean, the threats were minimal, and even if the place was crawling with young mutants, people generally left him alone. If it weren't for Xavier's little cultish attitude and crew of suits he'd even go so far as to say he liked it.

The suits were Xavier's favorite freaks. He dressed them up in costumes and paraded them in front of congress to prove the animals were trainable. Logan had taken one look at the lot of them and unsheathed his claws. Only the force of Xavier's mind kept him from tearing them to shreds. The sight of the five mutants, dressed in yellow, made bile rise in his throat.

Logan looked down at his hands on the edge of his new bed, sheets pristine and white. His fight or flight instinct was still kicking. He still wanted to run.

"You can leave whenever you choose," Xavier had said.

"I didn't ask." Logan had snarled.

All this, even as he dropped his bags and essentially gave up. He was so fucking tired of running.

* * *

[Scott did not trust Charles Xavier. He could feel the psychic at the fringes of his mind and hated every second of it.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the very thing that made Scott special, that made Xavier want him, hadn't been something Scott had tossed out with the garbage.

Murder everyone around you, or loose the eyes? Scott had never been one to flinch at an uncompromising choice, after all. If only he had known then that some billionaire with a mansion would want his eyes so badly someday, he'd have probably made the same choices.

Scott's complicated past always had liked to bite him in the ass.

But Scott had been wanted before, by people less scrupulous than the diligent Professor Xavier, and had learned that any man who claimed to want anything to do with anyone under the age of seventeen was not to be trusted. Scott was not seventeen, but he hoped to conceal this for as long as possible.

He could tell the others did not understand his unease.

Jean, raised in a middle class household where educated wheelchair bound men were not feared, was not the least bit uneasy. Bobby didn't like Xavier, only because Scott didn't. Warren was the most quiet about it, but Warren had a lot of issues with anyone who wasn't a morlock, and very little time to adjust to the world at large. Hank was the worst, being downright giddy with the resources now available to him.

If it were up to Scott they'd all have left immediately. But Warren's wings had only just healed. And Scott would go to hell, or worse, back to the orphanage from which he'd originally fled, before he'd leave good hearted Jean and Bobby in the clutches of Xavier.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Get. Out."

Xavier smiled from his chair, and Scott shuffled away from the presence that so rudely intruded upon his brooding in the third floor library.

Seeing Scott's uneasy retreat into the bookshelf, the man did not move to get closer.

Navigating the mansion without sight was a nightmare. No braille anywhere, stairs all over the place, uneven wood floors and rugs. Scott had started distinguishing rooms and doors by the looseness of the doorknob and number of steps away from the landing. And he couldn't imaging how Xavier did it, given the lack of elevators and wide entryways.

Xavier chuckled. "I'll have you know there is an elevator, right off the master bedroom. But no, not all the bathrooms are accessible."

Scott flushed.

"You know, you can see if my mouth is moving or not, you could at least have the decency to pretend not to hear me thinking."

Xavier said nothing for a very long time. Scott hear him breathing, in, out, in- and frustratingly he could not hear the man's thoughts. Though the man was always mucking around in their minds Scott could never actually hear what he was thinking. He both craved and hated that particular skill.

"Mr. Summers, I think I'd like to show you something."

Scott shrugged. "Not much use showing a blind kid anything, Mr. X."

Sounding almost human, Xavier chuckled.]

* * *

Scott "Slim" Summers was a fucking piece of work. Tall, strong jaw, clean shaven. Everything Logan wasn't. The man quirked a brow at him from across the kitchen. There were dozens of heads between them, and with those dark sunglasses Logan couldn't be sure the man could even see him, but it made him shudder anyways. He skulked off with his food, away from Summers not-gaze.

The fucker even smiled. Logan held back a snarl. He found the darkest, most cramped corner of the kitchen (a little ways from the kitchen table, on a bench, back to the wall, eyes to the exit) and shoveled food into his mouth.

It was his third day back with society and fuck if scrambled eggs didn't taste like literal heaven.

Angel announced himself with the startles gasps of all the tiny mutant shits in the room. Logan watched as every prepubescent, wide eyed, youngster whipped their heads around at the sight of the man with long blond hair and wings that stretched the room. It didn't help, or hurt probably, that Angel liked to go shirtless. Easier for his wings.

Logan watched as the man sauntered across the room with eyes only for Scott. The two exchanged a weird, muted greeting, wherein Scott brushed off whatever Warren was signing with a wave of his hand, and Warren, when he realized he had become the sole focus of the room, scanned the crowd, locked eyes with Logan, winked, and sauntered off.

Logan, for his part, made the mistake of staring. He couldn't help it necessarily. It had been a considerably long time since someone that beautiful had paid him the slightest bit of attention, and he knew for a fact he still looked like he'd been dragged out of the gutter (which was exactly where the X-Men and Xavier had found him anyways).

He was so busy being blindsided that he hardly noticed as Warren shepherded students out of the kitchen until he was sitting alone, in his stained wifebeater, eggs hanging out of his mouth.

Well, not entirely alone.

Scott coughed, and Logan glared as he realized the man had taken a seat on the bench beside him.

"You've got something on your mind." Scott said, instead of asking. Logan really did growl then.

"Fuck off," where did he even get off-

"Telepath." Scott answered. "Also, Warren wanted me to talk to you."

Damn that blasted, oversized bird. Him and the other X-Men looked mighty fine, sure. They were the cleanest cut bunch of mutants Logan had ever seen. Pressed costumes, gorgeous hair. Five beautiful, unassuming, normal looking people. Not killing machines or monsters. And because they couldn't see the monster Logan actually was, because Logan looked the part of a man, they thought they could dress him up too. Logan looked Scott dead in the eyes, trying to stare through the polished, reflective glass.

"Mind your own fucking business." Wolverine dove back into his food, acting every part the animal he was in his thoughts.

The man was blind. Or else had the manners of a saint to be ok with the amount of egg on Logan's face and stains in his shirt, and general despicable way he shoveled the food to his mouth like he was starved and feral.

"Blind," Scott said, barest trace of a smile, "I've been accused of many things, but exquisite manners are not among them."

"Don't you have some showboating to do? Mr. X-Man? Leave me the fuck alone."

Scott shrugged, leaning back and looking for all the world like he intended to stay there the rest of the day. "The costumes bother you that much?"

"The costumes are a waste of fucking time. Believe me. If all it took were a circus to keep people from stringing us up and burning us alive, I wouldn't fucking be here. "

"Amen," Scott said.

Logan waited for the sound bite. The part where Scott said 'but, Xavier's dream is worth fighting for' or 'I used to be like you'. He got nothing. Highly reflective lenses made discerning anything difficult, and Scott's expression was schooled into the perfect mask of 'nothing is wrong here'. Something felt off in Logan's gut.

Before he could think much more on it, however, a siren sounded through the building.

Scott deflated. Then, resolutely, he stood. He did not bother looking at Logan. "Duty calls, Logan. We should talk sometime."

* * *

["Who are you?" the younger boy asked.

Scott tensed. "Scott."

"Oh. I'm Alex."

"Alex," Moira called, "come here, it's time to go back inside."

The younger boy, maybe fourteen, turned without hesitation. Xavier and Scott let him go.

"What you want," Scott said "I can't give it to you. I don't have it anymore. I can't fight your battles." Scott trembled. They stood in one of the many more secluded parks surrounding the manner. Out in the yard, Alex and Moira made their way back towards the manner.

It occurred to Scott this could be a hallucination. It occurred to him that the fact that he had not felt Alex's presence, even with his telepathy, could only lead to terrible things.

But the pain of hearing his voice. The agony of the knowledge that Alex could possibly be...that it was Scott's responsibility.

"He is like you," Xavier said quietly, "But I will keep him safe. You have my word. As for what you can do for me, I believe you more capable than you think."

"I'm blind."

"You are a powerful telepath."

"If I'm so powerful, why couldn't I hear him?"

Xavier paused for a moment and in that moment Scott reached out and his mind hit what felt like thick lead. Where Xavier mind should have been was the thick and weighty presence of absence. A desolate darkness where light and sound and thought should have been. And all at once it was ripped away. Xavier cleared his throat, as if the barriers he had just slammed Scott out of had been nothing but a passing thought, and Scott stumbled, nauseous and sure, now more than ever that something was wrong.

"You couldn't hear him because, well, I must be honest with you. I have been watching you for quite some time. Longer than you could realize. I have a dream for mutant kind. And I need you to help me."

"I can't help you."

"You are more to me than a set of mutant powers, Scott. If I wanted your eyes, I wouldn't have given you your other gifts."]

* * *

"I don't want to talk to you Summers," Logan said for the umpteenth time.

Scott shrugged. "You don't have to. Xavier wanted to see you."

The walk to the study was tense, and full of glaring on the part of Logan. Scott didn't seem to understand the utter hatred Logan carried for him. Scott, prissy adopted son of a millionaire. Never worked a day in his life. Fucking lifeblood of the New Mutant Movement. People everywhere loved Scott Summers as the symbol of Mutant-Human relations. Xavier's pet.

"You get I'm a telepath, right?"

"Stay out of my thoughts."

Scott seemed to find this infinitely amusing. He grinned at Logan like they were in on some private joke. As they approached the study Logan saw the other X-Men. The redhead, but also Angel, Beast, and Iceman. The group turned collectively, so in sync Logan wondered if they weren't all sharing some weird psychic link, especially when the group started exchanging a series of very distressed faces.

Logan peered over at the taller man, but no Scott still appeared blind.

Scott heaved a great sigh. "Xavier is waiting on us, what are you doing out here?"

"Sorry Scott," Iceman said, and they started to shuffle inside.

Scott caught Logan by the arm as he tried to follow.

"We should get drinks after this," Scott said, "To celebrate your joining the X-Men."

"I fucking told you-"

"Logan." Xavier rolled up to the door to greet them. "Please, come in. We should talk. I want to discuss your future."

* * *

[Scott never wanted to go back to the life he lived before. And yet, sitting with his friends, as they celebrated his decision to stay, it worried him.

The kitchen would have to get bigger, if this was to be a real school. Schools needed cafeterias right? And they'd have to talk to Xavier about getting real teachers. And the food, and what happened when they got older, who accepted graduates of mutant school?

And of course, maybe if it all went well, questions about Alex, about his parents, maybe-

"Scott?" Bobby looked very, very worried. Big brown eyes and a crooked frown, as he broke away from the group conversation to bore into Scott. "You gone more than five minutes without reminding me how stupid I am-"

What did Xavier do to him?

"I'm fine Bobby. Things are going to be different now," he lied.]

* * *

Xavier drove a hard bargain. One that mostly involved a past Logan couldn't remember, mercenaries who didn't die, and trying to negotiate with Scott Summer standing right behind him tense as hell.

Logan did not take Scott up on that drink, though he regretted it immensely when he saw the man leave alone that night. He could have used some good mind numbing distraction.

"Don't take it personally," Bobby said, misinterpreting Logan watching the front door for something it was most certainly not, "He likes to brood."

"Why the fuck would I care?"

Bobby blinked at him, the kind of slow careful blink someone who has to work a little harder to keep up makes, and happily invited himself to sit beside Logan on the stairs before the front door.

"You know, when I first met him, he scared the shit out of me, too."

Logan growled.

"But I think he may have saved my life. He broke me out of jail. Kind of."

Logan took a long look at the man. Bobby wore jeans and a floral print t-shirt. He was average height, with a dimpled smile, and looked for all the world like he'd never been in jail a day in his life. He wore glasses, and Logan was pretty sure he taught Algebra.

"I don't believe you for a second."

Bobby laughed. "Believe what you like. Welcome to the X-Men"

Logan sighed and decided he'd rather be anywhere else. He left Bobby on the stairs and went after Scott.

"I was wondering what kept you," Scott said, and Logan jumped.

The man was leaning up against the side of the house, cigarette in one hand.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

They didn't talk as they walked. Nor when they got in the car, and drove to a non-descript town with an ordinary dive bar. They didn't talk until they said their orders to the bartender, who avoided looking directly at Scott, and then fell into a silence punctuated only by refills and the sound of a game in the background.

"Something's wrong with you all," Logan did finally say.

"Be careful Logan, I heard powerful psychics can hear very long distances."

It could have been a threat, but then Scott gulped down his drink, and Logan thought that, maybe, Scott knew that Xavier showing up at the last second to pull mutants from harm seemed a bit…

"I said careful Logan."

Scott lowered his glasses, just enough for Logan to see severe scarring marrying the upper parts of his lids.

He ordered another drink.

* * *

["I wish to present to you all, the X-Men. This team of young, intelligent, and trustworthy mutant citizens who are here to volunteer their help and their example. With their aid I hope to strive towards a better tomorrow, one where humans and mutants live peacefully, side by side."

"Old windbag. Yes tiny people, nothing to fear. Just some nice, normal, muties," Jean said so only they could hear, while smiling and waving to the camera.

Bobby snorted.

Scott said nothing, leading from the front, and frowning, as the press conference became an overwhelming mess of shouting reporters and flashing cameras.

The costumes, he felt, were a bit much.]

* * *

Scott Summers was beautiful in the thick of battle. Even Logan had to admit that, months later in the midst of a fight with giant robots (where the fuck did they get those?), there was a reason Xavier put Scott in charge. The man was electric.

Watch your left.

And also bossy.

Wolverine let the thing hit him just to spite Summers. Watched as the man winced in telepathic sympathy and grinned. Healing factors were a beautiful thing.

"You ok, Wolverine?" Jean asked, lifting away the monstrous machine like they were paperweights with a flick of her wrist.

As Wolverine watched the gorgeous redhead rip the things to shreds, he thought this X-Men gig wasn't half so bad.


End file.
